Hope By The Sea
by Alpha Hydra
Summary: Tweek gets sent to a rehab clinic after he's accused of being a crack-addict. Naturally, crack! ensues. Slash. StanxKyle and CraigxTweek
1. The Premise, or better yet, So Far Away

**Summary: **Tweek gets sent to a rehab clinic after he's accused of being a crack-addict. Naturally, crack! Ensues. Slash. If that bothers you, don't read. Oh, and this is NOT a Craig/Stan fic. I only just realized how...incriminating the first chapter is, but its Craig/Tweek and Stan/Kyle, for sure.

**Rating:** T-M (for language, and just to be safe. Rating may go up later because of some possible graphic content and maybe some smut in later chapters)

**Disclaimer: **I don't own South Park, Hope By the Sea, UT Austin or other such nonsense. Hope By the Sea is an actual rehab clinic in San Juan Capistrano, California, but the stuff that happens in this fic probably doesn't really go on there. South Park is being borrowed courtesy of Matt Parker and Trey Stone. Possibly the only thing that is mine is the plot.

**A/N:** umm, hello again there. I'm not quite sure why I posted this, except that I've been working on it for a while and it's actually nearly done. Also, I haven't updated some of my other stuff in a while, and I don't expect it too be done too soon, so this is like, an olive branch or something. Like, please don't kill me while I hammer out some inspiration issues and stuff. Ok, this has gone on forever, let's just get on with it.

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Craig awoke very abruptly on the morning of his first day of summer break, an inexplicable sense of dread filling his chest. He sat up and looked around his tiny bedroom, wondering if he had forgotten something important.

"Stan?" he called out, running a hand through his messy black hair.

From the other side of the apartment, he heard what sounded like a heavy object (possibly an alarm clock) hitting a wall, followed by a loud thud (probably Stan falling off his bed) and a muffled yell.

"The fuck do you want, Asshole?" Stan called after a few seconds of silence.

"It's not like, really Friday or some shit, is it?"

"What are you fucking talking about?"

Stan's voice sounded closer now, as if he had left his room and was rummaging around in the tiny kitchen. Craig stood up and stretched. He looked around the messy room, as if searching for an answer to the uneasiness in his gut.

A UT Austin banner hung on his wall, along with his old posters of Red Racer, Indiana Jones, the Denver Broncos, and a few autographed pictures of celebrities. On the wall closest to his bed were all the pictures of him and his friends (some of them were of his 'other' friends like Stan, Token, Clyde, Thomas and some people he'd met here in Austin, and the other like 20 were all of Craig and Tweek from high school). Nothing out of the ordinary. He sighed and went into the kitchen, grabbing a rumpled shirt off the floor and putting it on as he went. Stan was sitting at the kitchen table, eating a bowl of cereal with a scowl on his face.

"You're an asshole, Craig," Stan muttered when he saw Craig walk in. "Do you have any fucking idea what time it fucking is? It's not even eight! This is not how I wanted to spend my first fucking day of summer."

Craig flipped him off and searched the fridge for something to eat. He found a half-eaten burger from yesterday and stuck it in the microwave.

Craig and Stan had rented an apartment together sometime around their second year of college. It was a complete coincidence that both of them had been offered scholarships from UT Austin to play football, and after the initial anger had worn away, he and Stan had formed a sort of competitive friendship. They still sort of hated each other, but since they didn't know anyone else their first year in college, they had naturally stuck together.

It was only after spending a year at the dorms with a sociopath stalker who Craig caught watching him sleep on more than one occasion, that he had said 'fuck this shit' and had gotten an apartment. He needed a roommate, and Craig didn't trust anyone in fucking Texas after the whole dorm-stalker thing (now he understood why Tweek was so messed up; paranoia was a _bitch_). So he had called Stan.

At that moment, Craig heard his cell phone ring from somewhere in the depths of his bedroom.

"Don't eat my fucking burger," Craig warned as he ran off to retrieve his phone. The ID said a strange number was calling him, and he almost didn't pick up (what if that stalker from last year had somehow found his number?), but something told him to quit being a pussy and just fucking answer.

" 'S Craig," he said, stifling a sudden yawn.

"Craig!" a familiar voice screeched into the phone.

Craig smiled. Tweek Tweak had gotten accepted into some school in California. Tweek had freaked out about all the pressure involved with going to college, but after Craig promised to call him every other day (at least), he had finally agreed to it. And while Craig didn't like being away from Tweek all too much, he just dealt with it. After all, Stan could do it right? And like Hell he would let Stan be better at anything, even something as gay as not missing your friend.

Which reminded him that Craig hadn't called Tweek since the week before finals. Oops.

"Hey Tweek," he said softly. "Dude, I'm sorry I didn't call this week. Finals—"

"It's—nrgh—It's fine Craig," Tweek said. Craig imagined him holding the phone up to his ear with his shoulder as he pulled at his hair with his right hand and held a cup of coffee in his left. "It's just...Jesus! You have to help me Craig! They've come to get me! ARGH! I knew I shouldn't have left South Park! It was way too much pressure!"

"Tweek," Craig said in his most guaranteed-to-calm-Tweek-down voice. "No one's after you. Now, tell me what happened."

Craig heard Tweek screech something along the lines of "Hold on I'm almost done!" in a muffled voice, as if he had held his hand up to the mouth piece. Craig raised an eyebrow at his phone.

"Craig, the gnomes were in cohorts with my Psychology Professor! She tried to steal my fucking underpants! And then when I—nrghh—When I said I'd tell the Dean about her and the gnomes, she ambushed me! She said I needed help and got the vampire who was posing as my room mate and his alien friends to put me in a rehab clinic! Jesus Craig, save me!"

"Tweek, slow down," Craig said. He ran a hand through his hair and started pacing around the living room. When Stan raised an eyebrow at him, he mouthed the word _Tweek._ Stan nodded and continued to eat his breakfast. "Who ambushed you?"

"MY PROFESSOR! She said I'd ruin her career if anyone found out about her gnome affiliation! Craig, get me out of here! They think I'm a crack addict!"

There was a brief scuffle on the other end of the line, before he heard Tweek scream hysterically.

"HOPE BY THE SEA, CRAIG!"

Then the line went dead.

"Tweek?" he asked weakly. "Tweek!"

"What happened dude?" Stan asked as he collapsed onto the couch and started flipping through the channels of their TV.

Craig didn't answer at first. He looked at his phone for a minute, as if refusing to believe what had just happened.

"I think Tweek just got sent to a rehab clinic," he said after a pause. "And was sexually assaulted by one of his professors."

Craig glanced down at his phone again, unsure if he wanted to see Stan's reaction to his statement. He'd been Tweek's best friend since forever, ever since Clyde had friend-dumped him to be Token's best friend, so Craig knew by now how Tweek's mind worked. He didn't so much 'over exaggerate' as he did warp every situation around until it fit the only logical explanation. And by logical, Craig meant completely illogical and crazy. Thus, ant bites would become vampiric encounters and typos in the newspaper transformed into secret codes sent to him by the Underpants Gnomes to subconsciously brain wash him.

Craig was a master at decoding Tweek's insanity, so he _knew_ in an instant that 'Professor in league with the underpants gnomes' had to mean that his teacher actually came on to him. There was no other explanation.

"Dude," Stan said, finally looking away from the TV as Craig's words processed in his post-school, sleep-addled brain, his eyes wide.

"Yeah," Craig agreed. "Dude."

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"No way Dude, we are_ not_ driving all the way to fucking nowhere California just to rescue _Tweek_," Stan said later that day as they were packing.

After all, it was summer, and both of their parents wanted them back in South Park for at least a little while.

"Whatever Stan," Craig said, flipping him off. "I can do this with or without your help. It'll be cheaper if we fucking drive but, whatever. Fuck you dude."

Stan sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought.

"Whatever happened to normal and boring, dude?" he asked, turning his big, hopeful eyes back to Craig. "Don't you hate doing anything exciting at all?"

Craig rolled his eyes, resisting the urge to flip Stan off again.

"Well, duh," he said in a tone of voice that let Stan know he was a complete and total douchebag. "But dude, I mean really. Tweek's trapped in California."

Stan stared at him. Craig stared back. Finally, Stan sighed again.

"Let me call Kyle. Maybe I can get him to come with us."

Craig smirked. So that was what this was about. Stan didn't want to get back to South Park; he wanted to see _Kyle._

"Fuck you Tucker," Stan said when he caught the look on Craig's face.

Craig ducked as Stan chucked a pair of old socks at his head he had been about to pack. Now the only thing he needed to do was find out what the fuck a 'hope by the sea' was. Craig looked it up on the Internet while Stan called Kyle.

Then he proceeded to laugh his ass off. For almost five minutes straight. He was still laughing to himself when Stan came back into the living room looking like he'd rip Craig's head off.

"Kyle said he'd book a flight to wherever we're fucking going," Stan grumbled, shoving a random bottle of hair gel into his suitcase roughly. "And he said that we'd better split the cost of a hotel room, otherwise he'd kill us both in a threateningly Kosher way."

"Oh," Craig said, marveling at the way Stan sounded mildly worried about their supposed 'Kosher Death'. "So what does that mean?"

"It means Kyle's pissed, retard," Stan said as if Craig was a complete idiot.

Which, apparently, he was.

"Oh, I'm sorry Stanley," he said, pouting in a ridiculously retarded way. "Does that mean you're not getting laid?"

"Fuck you Craig!" Stan said, his cheeks brightening slightly. "We're not like that!"

"Sure dude," Crag answered as he zipped up his duffel bag. "Everyone in high school thought you two were totally fucking."

"Well, everyone thought the fucking same thing about you and Tweek."

Craig paused, watching his bag thoughtfully.

"That's different though."

"Oh yeah? Why?"

"Because we actually _weren't_ fucking each other."

"You're an asshole Craig."

"Don't call me an asshole, Asshole."

Stan sighed, as if he didn't have the energy to put up with such stupidity, and then he punched Craig square in the jaw. It hurt like a bitch, so Craig landed a punch right on Stan's nose. Stan tackled him, and soon they were fighting in the middle of the living room.

After ten minutes of beating the shit out of each other, they each retreated to separate parts of the living room. Stan was sitting on the floor, leaning against the couch, and Craig was lying spread eagle on the floor on the other side of the room.

"So do you want to drive?" Craig asked in a raspy voice.

"Yeah, I guess," Stan said thickly.

Craig fished around in his pockets until he pulled out the keys to his Mustang. He threw them blindly in the general direction of Stan, who remarkably, caught them.

"Where are we going again?"

"San Juan Capistrano," Craig said. "It's by San Diego. I'll tell you how to get there."

"'Kay," Stan said.

They stayed like that for a few more minutes, both sort of wishing they could pass out. But eventually, Stan hauled himself up onto his feet and grabbed his suitcase without saying a word. Craig followed suit moments later, not wanting to feel inferior to his friend.


	2. Dead Wrong

**Disclaimer:** Standard disclaimers and such apply. If you happen to have forgotten them, just go back a chapter and read them over.

**A/N:** Okay, so I officially need to thank some people. Like, I am the worst author ever 'cuz I don't normally, but then I posted this fic and _hours_ later I had six reviews and like a dozen other emails that people either fav'd it or put it on alert, so like, wow. So, thank you: Hot Monkey Brain, Hypothisos, Dresden Octopus, Alex 0821, xxSay, Newey, KittyBePraised, and Becca for your wonderful reviews. As much as I hate to admit it, I am in fact human, and therefore love it when people review my stories. Especially when it's just the first chapter. It soothes some nerves/paranoia, ya know? Ok, that's it, let's get to it.

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It was still dark when Tweek abruptly pulled himself out of his shallow pool of slumber, his entire body tense for flight. The smell of alien, sterile bedding was suffocating him, and with a muffled shriek, Tweek fell to the strange floor, his body tangled in the sheets.

"Jesus Christ!" he whispered loudly to the dark

"Mmph," an almost unfamiliar voice called from the other end of the room.

Tweek would have immediately jumped up and thrown his alarm clock at the room's glass doors to make a speedy exit, but then he remembered a second before grabbing the clock what had happened just the day before. He settled for pulling at his hair roughly instead.

"G-go back to sleep Ted," Tweek said slowly, trying his hardest not to scream.

"Can't," the man named Ted replied wearily.

Tweek heard a set of old bed springs squeak loudly, as if Ted had shifted his weight. Tweek imagined him sitting up in his bed with his feet dangling over the edge, precariously close to the black hole that was spinning under the bed. Tweek sat up with a strangled _Nngh!_ after remembering that every bed had said black hole under it, and he was inches away from a certain gravity-related doom. In a burst of adrenaline-induced speed, he jumped back onto the bed (tangled sheets and all) and landed in a heap.

Ted was indeed sitting at the edge of his bed on the other side of the room, his head in his hands. The weak moonlight spilled across his silhouette, reminding Tweek for a minute of the mysterious mer-people that had once taken up residence in the house next door when Stark's Pond had frozen over one unseasonably cold summer.

Ted was an okay guy, Tweek guessed. But yesterday passed by in a blur of panic and drug-induced fog, so he couldn't really be too sure. After Professor Miff and his vampire room mate Shaun had confronted him about drugs, Tweek had panicked and tried to flee his dorm. Unfortunately, because he was spazzing out, he inconveniently forgot about the four flights of stairs he needed to go down before he could make it to freedom. After falling down about 23 and a half stairs, Tweek's body saw it fit to temporarily put him out of his misery, and he promptly passed out.

When he had awoken again, his body felt seven times heavier, but for once in his life, he wasn't shaking. By that time Shaun was driving him to San Juan Capistrano (wearing a pair of thick sunglasses and a visor, Tweek noted), and he had been doped up on so many horse tranquilizers that he couldn't even really remember why that was such a bad idea in the first place. He couldn't even make his mouth ask Shaun how much sunscreen he needed to use to drive them all the way to San Juan Capistrano (what was that anyway? His brain had asked. Some kind of park?). When he tried to get his body to cooperate with him, the little Tweek in his brain had freaked out and flipped the 'in case of emergency' switch in his mind, and he blacked out again.

About an hour later, still higher than a kite, Shaun checked him into Hope By the Sea. He had collapsed onto a bed some woman in white had kindly led him to (he didn't even have the energy to ask for the place's bed bug repellent). Early the next day, with all the horse tranquilizers finally out of his system, he had fully freaked out.

It was the spaz to end all spazzes.

He called Craig (unsuccessfully the first three times as he kept shaking and dialing wrong) and had hopefully gotten across the urgency of his situation before two gorillas in nurse outfits trained to subdue crazy people bodily carried him back into his room. He had spent the rest of the day with Ted, who had been rocking back and forth in the corner of the room.

Ted, apparently, had started doing heroine when his fiancée had died six years ago. He had told Tweek that he was only trying to get better because he had finally figured that it was what she would have wanted of him. Tweek had secretly agreed, but had said nothing about it. He only bit his fingernails, afraid that Ted might have secret syringes he could have hidden in the room in case he needed to give AIDS to someone who pointed out the obvious.

The Ted-shaped, merman-silhouette of the present sighed at that moment, pulling Tweek out of his memories of yesterday. It turned its subaqueous face towards Tweek, who crawled a little closer to his bed post, just in case.

"I need someone to talk to," Ted said.

Tweek twitched.

"Oh," he said, pulling at the neck of his standard-issue pajamas. "O-Okay then."

Ted sniffled, and Tweek wondered if he might be crying.

"I miss her so much," Ted said quietly, as if afraid of his own voice.

Tweek yanked on the bedding underneath him to have something to focus on instead of the sagging figure of his room mate.

"It's been six years," he continued when Tweek remained silent. "Do you think it will ever stop hurting?"

Tweek clenched his jaw and blinked harshly, thinking it over.

"I—Nngh—I once had a friend who would die almost every other day. B-by the time we got to high school, no one even noticed anymore. Jesus! Th-there was only one kid who still worried when my-my friend would die. I-I asked him once, that if he knew Kenny would come back, why he still cried and sh-shit. He just said that every time it happened, it was like the first time. Like a-a stab to the heart that he was sure would never go away. He said I w-wouldn't understand. I didn't."

Ted said nothing, but he had lifted his head from its former place in his hands and was watching Tweek with an unreadable expression on his face. Then suddenly, a sad smile spread over his face.

"Even though that's probably just the crack talking, I appreciate the story kid," Ted said. "Go to sleep. Tomorrow you'll go through detox, and then you can finally start your own recovery."

"But what about you??" Tweek asked, pulling at his hair again. "I didn't help at all!"

Ted looked out the glass doors, his hands on the bed behind him. .His eyes seemed glued on some far away star in the sky, happily converting Hydrogen into Helium without a care about the problems of humans thousands of light years away.

"I think you did help kid," Ted said.

He didn't look away from the star that seemed to have captivated him with its twinkling beauty. Tweek wondered if aliens had gotten control of his mind by some sort of inter-galactic Morse Code Hypnosis.

"Too bad you're just a crack whore," Ted said abruptly. "You could have been a philosopher or something. Maybe there's hope for you yet."

"Jesus Christ! I don't do crack," Tweek mumbled even as a fit of twitches attacked his body.

"That's what I said about heroine," he answered, finally looking back at Tweek. Even in the weak moonlight, Tweek could see a look of pity scrawled across his tired face. Tweek hoped he never looked like that in his lifetime. Ted looked as if he'd given up hope a long time ago, and was trying to find the courage to do something about it.

"That's what everyone says."

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**A/N:** Okay, so I know this was a hardcore fast update, and I know that probably isn't a bad thing, but other updates won't be nearly as speedy. Sorry. It's just that I'm so frustrated with my other projects (both fanfiction and real world-related) and I have nine of these chapters already done... It makes me feel less like a failure at life when I post this after getting frustrated with other stuff, you know? And, also, expect short chapters. Unlike some other stuff, most of these chapters won't be that long. Sorry again if I fail at life.


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